


The Quick Change

by tiny_septic_box_sam



Series: One-Offs [4]
Category: Jacksepticeye (YouTuber RPF), Markiplier (Youtuber RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Actor!Mark, M/M, Stage manager!Jack, Theatre AU, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_septic_box_sam/pseuds/tiny_septic_box_sam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jesus, dude, it’s a zipper,” Mark chuckled, his face breaking out in a hilarious smile. “It’s not rocket science. Just pull it up.”<br/>“I know, I just don’t wanna touch your penis!” Jack hissed, and Mark’s face turned scarlet with either embarrassment or stifled laughter.<br/>“You know you’re still on headset, right?” Rick said candidly in Jack’s ear. “Tell that actor to be quiet or the audience’ll hear him.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quick Change

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an otpprompts prompt about quick-change AUs that I can't find for the fucking life of me, so whatever.

            Jack was sitting stage left, one hand flat on the prop table beside him, the other pressing his headphones against his head. Techs were rushing behind him as they moved the sets at the fasted speed humanly possible; meanwhile the actors were clearing the stage for the protagonist’s solo number.

            “Okay…the transition is done, bring up the lights,” Jack murmured into his headset.

            “Lights going up,” Rick responded, wearing a headset of his own up in the sound booth. The lights lit the stage again, and what had once been a heavily populated battle scene was now a vacant stage with a single backdrop, and one lone man standing in the center. Jack appreciated the dramatics of it, but he couldn’t really focus on it given that he was basically in charge of the whole show.

            When the actual stage director called in this morning saying he was violently ill (and they believed him, because he actually vomited while on the phone), Jack had been “volunteered” to take his place for the night. And sure, Jack had experience in positions of tech leadership, given that he was in charge of the light and sound booth upstairs, but he didn’t feel like that exactly qualified him to be in charge of almost _the entire musical_ , even for just a night.

            “But who else is gonna do it?” Rick asked him when he protested against his new leadership position, and Jack had to admit that he didn’t really trust anyone else to take over. So there he was, sitting in the wings where he felt like he didn’t belong at all, frantically trying to call out cues and keep up with the happenings of the show.

            At least it would be quiet for a little bit. This song didn’t require any varying technical elements; the director had wanted it to all be focused on the actor. Jack had never really heard the song; he usually took the opportunity to relax during this moment of the show, since the rest of the time he was running around turning on spotlights.

            The actor was standing in the middle of the stage, his hair somewhat mussed and messy from the fight scene that had just happened. He was staring intensely at the crowd, almost as though he was accusing them of something, and there was a pregnant pause of total silence. Jack leaned forward, unable to stop himself from feeling intrigued. He rested his chin on his hands.

            Then the actor opened his mouth, and without waiting for the orchestra he began to sing.

            The notes were soft at first, almost like a whisper—a mere suggestion of noise. He stood stock still, looking up at the heavens almost like he was praying. His words were sad, and Jack leaned forward even more. He was able to _hear_ the words and the notes and the emotions, but it wasn’t wholly satisfying. He wanted to hear more. If the actor was trying to tease the audience, it was working.

            Then the song began to swell, and the actor took steps back violently, as if backpedaling away from something that disgusted him. His face twisted in rage, and he belted out notes and words filled with hatred. Jack was startled; his heart began to pound. The actor’s voice filled the entire auditorium, echoing from the highest walls and the deepest caverns onstage, and even though he was completely alone he took up the whole space like a trapped comet.

            Jack was completely engrossed, and the song had barely begun. He was standing before he realized it, leaning so close to the stage that the audience could almost see him.

            The song was changing, developing; the anger in the actor’s voice was tugging at the orchestra, bringing the noise louder and louder. It amazed Jack that one man’s voice could be heard over dozens of stringed instruments and drums, but the singing was absolutely domineering, and as the actor paced back and forth almost like he wished he could punch something, his electrifying energy crackled in the audience and made everybody’s hair stand on end.

            His notes were absolutely solid. Jack couldn’t remember ever hearing a voice that was so pure and smooth; his long notes were like liquid gold, and his staccato words like gunshots. It was push and pull, because sometimes he’d pause, completely still, and he’d reach almost like he was yearning for something, and then the notes would be languid and beautiful. But then he’d stop, and his entire body would lock up as though he’d been bound by rope, and the song would be an attack once again.

            It was a beautiful display of character, if Jack said so himself, and he’d never even acted a day in his life. The song called for a torrent of emotions from the main character, who was torn over all of the crimes he’d had to commit, but never had the lyrics ever resonated with Jack until he saw this actor perform them live. He was charged up with so much emotion that it took an unexpected amount of willpower not to run onstage and scream with the actor himself.

            The song was drawing to a close, and the actor had worked his way up to the lip of the stage, his toes practically dipping into the orchestra pit. Jack probably should’ve been concerned about him falling in, but he was too entranced to think of anything like that right now. The actor held his arms out, almost begging for benediction, and his words were desperate. There was a catch in his throat as he sang the last few lines, pleading for God to forgive him for what he’d done, and as his notes grew higher and sadder they got softer. Jack’s heart broke, and he sat back down, thinking it was the end.

            Then the final note was hit, and it was the most powerful sound of all. Jack was blown away, because it sounded so _full_ and _rich_ , and it seemed to go on for hours. The actor filled the stage, all by himself, needing no outside help to make himself look good. He held the audience in a trance for almost sixteen measures, and then he cut off violently, as though he were choking the music to death. The orchestra played him out, but Jack didn’t hear any of it over the deafening cheer, and even he had to clap. He felt something drip onto his collar and realized he was crying.

            “Holy shit,” he murmured aloud, and he heard Rick laugh. He’d forgotten he was still on headset.

            “You finally watched that part, huh? He’s amazing, right?”

            “Yeah, no kiddin’.” Jack wiped his eyes, getting back to business. “Take down the lights, time for a scene change.”

            The stage blackened, and the backstage came back to life as they prepared for the next scene, set in a castle. Techs rushed onstage to place complicated sets and furniture, and actors and actresses all ran on in their new ballroom attire. Jack stood with his back to the table, watching it all and still absorbing all of the emotions that had been thrust into his lap, when suddenly somebody collided with him.

            “Oops, sorry,” a deep, disembodied voice said to him in the dark. “Get my pants off.”

            Jack was immediately confused. “I…what?”

            “Get my pants off, duh. And hurry!”

            “What— _why_ would I do that?!”

            Jack flicked on the blue lamp next to him (he was only supposed to use lights in emergencies, but this seemed like it qualified), and he came face-to-face with the dark-haired protagonist from the previous scene, now completely stripped of character…and also of his jacket. He was now unbuttoning his undershirt and staring at Jack like he was completely crazy.

            “Wait…where’s Paul?” the actor asked. Paul was the stage manager.

            “He’s sick. I’m fillin’ in for him. _Why_ are you gettin’ naked?!”

            “I’m quick-changing! Paul usually helps me. Look, if you don’t get my pants off in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna miss my cue.”

            Jack looked around helplessly. “Can’t somebody else do it…?” Every other tech that was usually in this wing had mysteriously disappeared.

            The actor harrumphed impatiently. “Fine, I’ll just be late then,” he grumbled, undoing the last shirt buttons.

            “No, I…I’ll help you,” Jack sighed. He felt vastly uncomfortable, but it clearly had to be done.

            “Thanks…uh, whatever-your-name-is. Cute-not-Paul, there we go. Hand me the gold shirt behind you and undo my pants.”

            Well _that_ was forward. Jack did as he was told, unable to keep himself from blushing. (Cute? Him?) He handed the actor his shirt and kneeled to do the dirty business of undressing his other half.

            “My real name’s Jack, by the way,” he said as he unzipped the fly. He didn’t know why he was introducing himself, other than the fact that they were getting to third base rather quickly and they probably needed to make up for lost time.

            “Nice to meet you, man. I’m Mark.”

            “Hi, Mark.” Jack let go of the pants, and they suddenly fell around Mark’s ankles, exposing the red briefs he was wearing. Suddenly feeling incredibly awkward, Jack addressed his crotch and stammered out, “I, uh, I really liked your performance.”

            “Did you? Thanks. It wasn’t one of my best.”

            “Dude, are you kiddin’?” Jack helped him step out of his brown pants and handed him a pair of black ones off of the table. “That was the best fuckin’ show I’ve ever seen.”

            He looked up at Mark (from the ground, just as awkwardly as it sounds) and was surprised to see that he looked kind of embarrassed.

            “Really? Gee, thanks,” Mark said humbly, doing the buttons. “Can you pull the pants up?”

            “Uh, yeah.” Jack stood up, and he was mortifyingly eye-level with Mark while he yanked the pants up to his hips and grabbed the fly. He tried to look anywhere but his face while his hands danced so close to his junk.

            “Jesus, dude, it’s a zipper,” Mark chuckled, his face breaking out in a hilarious smile. “It’s not rocket science. Just pull it up.”

            “I know, I just don’t wanna touch your penis!” Jack hissed, and Mark’s face turned scarlet with either embarrassment or stifled laughter.

            “You know you’re still on headset, right?” Rick said candidly in Jack’s ear, and Mark must’ve heard it because he covered his mouth and began to laugh uncontrollably. “Tell that actor to be quiet or the audience’ll hear him.”

            “I know, I know, I’m trying,” Mark chortled, and Jack rolled his eyes as he finished with the pants. At this point he didn’t care if he accidentally touched Mark’s dick as long as he freed himself from this nightmare. “Okay, they’re on? Thanks. Hand me that black vest.”

            Jack did, and Mark tried to flatten his hair with his fingers while he buttoned it for him. Jack was still probably bright red, but Mark seemed completely blasé about the previous encounter.

            “Say, have you always been on the tech crew?” Mark asked while he made himself more presentable. (Not that that was hard. Jesus, the man was gorgeous, even Jack couldn’t deny it.) “Why haven’t I seen you around before?”

            “Yeah, I’m normally up in the sound booth,” Jack explained.

            “Really? Damn, it’s a shame I’ve never met you before.” Mark was smiling languidly, and it was making Jack’s pulse pick up speed. Jesus, first the incredible performance, and then the guy had to be a suave motherfucker on top of that?! It was all too much.

            “Well, I, uh…I guess it is, huh?” he stammered rigidly, feeling embarrassed. Mark laughed a little.

            “Well you—” He stopped suddenly, and his smile vanished. “Wait, where are we?”

            Jack looked up, his eyes widening. He glanced over at the complete silence onstage and saw the actors standing around awkwardly.

            Mark suddenly hissed, “ _Shit_! _I’m on_!” and he darted onstage. He improvised something halfheartedly at the actors, who were all staring at him like he was nuts, and Jack had to put a fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.

* * *

            After the show closed, Jack directed the process of putting away the sets and equipment for next weekend’s performance. It was surprisingly exhausting work, as it seemed like everybody ran into some kind of problem along the way and needed him to help them out of it. By the time he was finished most of the actors and techs had already gone out to eat or home.

            As he was leaving the stage, coated in a thin layer of sweat and sawdust, a tech girl that couldn’t have been older than eighteen walked up to him with a rose in her hand. It was one of the roses that patrons could buy and have sent to their favorite actors at the box office. Jack thought it was a little silly, especially for a professional theatre, but apparently the business made a killing.

            “Are you Jack?” she asked him as he approached. His brow furrowed.

            “Yeah, who’s askin’?”

            “Not me. I have a delivery for you.” She handed him the rose and walked past before he could get another question out.

            More confused than ever, Jack turned the flower over and saw that there was a notecard attached, written in loopy, over exaggerated handwriting.

 

            _Dear Cute-Not-Paul, aka Jack,_

_Thanks for complimenting my performance and getting me changed, but there’s more to me than just a pretty face. I’m waiting outside the staff entrance if you want to get late-night coffee from a place that I always bring cute boys. I’ll wait until nine, but if you’re not there by then then I can take a hint._

_Signed, Mark :)_ _  
_

Jack looked at his clock. It was 8:45 now. Without thinking, he sprinted out of the wings and down the spiral staircase, past the mostly-empty dressing rooms and the staff bathrooms and up to the staff exit, where he threw his weight against the door and stumbled ungracefully into the alley next to the theatre.

            Jack looked around, trying in vain to wipe off the sawdust covering him when he heard somebody clear their throat.

            “Thank goodness you came. I was about to give up and leave.”

            Jack straightened up and whirled around to see Mark, now dressed in street clothes. He’d thrown on a black V-neck shirt and faded jeans, and he was wearing glasses. Jack smiled at him, breathing hard from the run.

            “Yeah, sorry. I just got your flower.” He showed it to him, and Mark laughed a little.

            “I was hoping you’d get it. I had no idea who to give it to.” He smiled at Jack and began walking forward. “Ready to go?”

            Jack nodded, swallowing. He looked at Mark’s outline in the streetlights, at the way his body curved and moved like a dancer’s. When he turned around, he smiled wryly, and it was like his face had been carved from stone.

            “You coming or what?” Mark chuckled.

            “Yeah, I just can’t believe I’m doin’ this,” Jack admitted with a small laugh, walking fast to keep up.

            “Why? Is it a good or a bad emotion?” Mark asked, his baritone voice rumbling. He almost sounded vulnerable, which was strange because he literally oozed confidence.

            “Good, good, don’t get me wrong. I’m just not used to…I dunno, gettin’ hit on by attractive men.” Jack couldn’t help blushing, and Mark’s grin widened.

            “I find that pretty hard to believe.” He snaked his hand into Jack’s and squeezed it, and Jack’s heart shuddered so suddenly that he was afraid he’d pop an artery. “C’mon, follow me. You’re gonna love this place. You like coffee, right?”

            “Yeah, of course I do,” Jack said quickly, but he couldn’t have cared less about coffee at the moment. Mark smiled at him encouragingly, and he couldn’t help smiling back, feeling like his stomach was doing little somersaults as they walked under the streetlamps hand-in-hand.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick, silly little one-off thing. I figured I'd do something short and silly since I just finished a monstrously long fic.
> 
> This is an idea I've had for quite awhile and that I actually wrote by hand a month or two ago, but I never posted it. It's silly, cute, and slightly saucy, which is just my style; plus it's about theatre, and I'm a theatre geek, so I got a big kick out of it. Hopefuly you guys will too. :)
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated! Just please be polite. :)


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